


Trust & Guardianship: Of Silence

by scarletcougar



Series: Trust and Guardianship [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Adult Content, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletcougar/pseuds/scarletcougar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter gives way to Spring in Fereldan. The journey of Fenris and Anders as they try to grow together, be friends, avoid Wardens and Templars, and try to not just survive, but live. Will the Templars or Wardens find Anders first? Can Fenris protect him and himself?</p><p>And so we begin part three of our story. Part one focused on the great hurdles these two needed to work through in order to come together on equal ground and be ready to trust each other. Part two focused on the building of that trust. Part three offers epiphanies of their roles and how important they are for not just each other, but for all of Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gifts of News

Fenris found his way to the town’s postal building next to the Chantry and asked about any letters that might have arrived here for him. He had not dared hope since no letters were at any other towns. The clerk thumps a pile tied with string. Fenris stood blinking in shock. He counted out the coins he had in his pouch for the service and tried not to worry at how few were left. He had learned something of budgeting their affairs along this journey from Anders. Their coins dwindled. He hoped it would not matter, that there would be news of Hawk arriving somewhere they could get to easily from here.

He fidgeted a little in the uncomfortable boots while he yanked off the string and rifled through the seals. Tethras. Vael. Vael. Tethras. Vael. Vael. Vael. Vael. Fenris chuckled. Sebastian always had much to say. He wondered where he could go to read them. The idea came to him as he looked upon the Vael crest. Fenris walked next door to the Chantry and found a small booth. Which to read first? How long could he risk being away? He started with Varric’s letters since Varric would likely have the news of Hawke.

~~~

_Broody,_

_All the world wants their hands on Blondie. Keep a low profile. Choir-boy has your news. Fereldan is still the safest place for you. Beware of Templars. The ones that were here on word of Starkhaven were here by their own choice and no one else’s. A Seeker grilled me for several days about the story of each of our party. Hawke is still on the wind. Everyone else is well. I have a feather that says to seek the Dalish. Don’t stray too far from the Port. More news to come._

_Varric_

~~~

On a quick list, Aveline and Donnic thus have secured a place in Denerim as they hoped, or Antiva… but Fenris doubted that. Merril likely found her elves to stay with. Isabela, he already knew was doing well with her ship. And Sebastian, he missed Sebastian. Sebastian was of course Prince of Starkhaven. Hawke… bloody Hawke. He wondered what Port and to which Dalish Varric referred. He would have to look on a map later. He opened Varric’s other letter.

~~~

_Broody,_

_Hoping for a taste of freedom? Seek out BushScribe. There is a book there for Blondie that will help you as per your last request. As well as something very special for you, but you might need help reading it. It is in Old Elvan scribble. Hawke sends his love but hasn’t found everything he is searching for. Lastly, my book is seriously lacking more news of your relationship with Blondie. Please tell me how things there fair. If I get no news, I shall make something up. Something VERY creative._

_Varric_

~~~

Fenris almost gasped aloud as his ears burned. He made mental note to send Varric some more detailed news of he and Anders and already dreaded whatever the dwarf was writing in his friend-fictions. It was inevitable that there would be one of him and Anders. He knew it would eventually come. BushScribe… that was one of the book shops here in the town. He almost headed right there, but chose to take a quick look through Sebastian’s letters. Oh so wordy!!! He made a face and decided to read them later when Anders was asleep some other night.

The urgency to get whatever Varric had left for them that would help free Fenris of Danarius’ hold spurred his feet more swiftly. He paced outside the shop’s door for almost an hour. Inside was nothing short of awe inspiring when he was finally let in. Books… everywhere. It was like the library of the University in Minrathus, only in miniature. Also, not books on magic. This must have been where Anders found those Yule gifts for him. He shook his head. He could peruse some other time.

“Tethras left something for me.”

The shopkeeper looked Fenris up and down a moment. “Prove you are who you are.”

Fenris scowled. The lyrium shone suddenly bright and the enhanced speed brought him nose to nose with fat man as his hand Fade-phased into the man’s chest and out again. Fenris gave a wolfish snarl, “Satisfied?”

The man’s mouth gaped and gasped like a fish. He nodded and hurried into a back room. He returned with a large bundle. Fenris took it and paused, remembering something Anders sometimes did. He put a silver coin in the man’s hand. “My apologies if I frightened you. You asked for proof. This is for my thanks for holding these for me. And…” he looked around the shop “… for having such a wondrous place full of books that anyone can buy to read.” After one more moment of appreciation, he asked, “Have you and soft leather-bound journals and ink?”

Fenris left with two new journals and fresh ink for Anders. His feet almost forgetting the boots he wore as he walked swiftly and lightly with excitement back to the inn and into their shared room, trying to balance some lunch with his other items.

Anders was dressed and clearly had been worrying and watching for Fenris from the window. “Where were you?! I woke and you were just … gone.”

“I thought I would not be so long. I went to see if Varric left me any letters as I had asked for the books you wanted.” He handed the letters from Varric over to Anders as they were safe of anything Hawke has bade him keep secret. Anders ignored lunch to read them excitedly. He gasped and then laughed. Fenris smiled. Anders must have read the bit about giving Varric news of their relationship.

“I’ll write him something juicy.”

“NO!” embarrassment and shock and panic leapt with the word from the elf’s mouth.

“Oh… alright. I didn’t know you and he were corresponding,” there was an edge of distrust in Anders’ comment.

Fenris set down the bundle. He hated that he was about to lie, “For those books. I figured Varric had the best chance of getting them than us.” The removed his winter clothing and then handed Anders the second little bundle as he tried not to toe the ground in awkward shyness. Where was that feeling coming from?

“A… another gift?” Anders stroked the soft leather and a slow smile warmed his expression. “Thank you.” Only now did he turn his attention to food that he nibbled while flipping through the mage book and the ancient elven text.

Fenris ate and took out a map to consider their next destination. He didn’t want to stay long in such a high profile place. Also, it was expensive and their coins were dwindling. “Are there Dalish in Fereldan?”

“Mhmm,” Anders was engrossed in the new forbidden texts.

“Mage!”

“What? Oh, yes. In the Brecilian Forest. And the closest port is Gwaren. But we are months away from the forest. I thought we were going to see Hawke’s old home.”

Fenris stared down at the map a bit more. “We will. It is only a few days away. Then we will work our way to the Brecilian Passage.” Months away… their coin would never last that long.

“You are worrying again. Merril warned you that if you scowl like that too long your face would stick.” Fenris threw a heel of bread at Anders for the jest. The mage chuckled. “It’s about the coin, isn’t it? Don’t worry too much There are ways to earn some.”

“Low profile. Varric said low profile.”

“It will be.”

Somehow Fenris doubted he would like this.


	2. Embarrassment in the Snow

They could not stay a second night in that fancy inn. So late afternoon, they trudged through the still festive village towards the road that should take them towards Hawke’s old home. Anders meandered along the path while Fenris steadily scowled harder at harder at the mage’s back. The blond was oblivious; his nose focused in the new text of magic… still. Fenris stopped walking and just watched with his arms crossed.

Anders stubbed a toe on a rock and nearly fell over. He let out a curse and kept walking. Finally Fenris snarled, grabbed the mage by the elbow and steered him straight.

“Enough!” snapped the elf. “It is dark and I am freezing!”

“Huhn?” As the sky had darkened, Anders simply lit the tip of his finger with the tiniest magic to keep reading.

Fenris snatched the book from the pale fingers. “I said ENOUGH! We are camping HERE!”

“Why didn’t you just say something? You didn’t need to yell.”

One dark hand fisted, the other covered his tanned face. Fenris growled.

Anders set up the tent and cast a warming spell within while his companion fumed. “Why don’t you go find some firewood and I will make us some breakfast in the morning?” It was a ploy to get Fenris to walk off his anger. Evenings always went better when the elf was not angry at something.

Fenris grumped and huffed, and then he stomped off through the snow in search of the requested firewood. Anders’ mouth pinched and twisted in an effort to not smile or laugh at the retreating figure of the elf across the field. It was just that a certain glowing elf stomping through snow was so funny to him. When he was sure Fenris would not see or hear, he snickered into his hand.

The tent stood a little lopsided. Anders tried a few times to fix it. Finally in frustration, he blasted the ground next to the tent with a fireball. “Ah. Much better.” With the snow melted and the ground scorched flat, he moved the tent over and into a significantly more improved state.

Fenris came running, dropping his armload of firewood and yanking his sword free from their piled gear. He stalked about warily, sword gripped in both hands. “Mage! Are you alright?”

Anders crawled from the perfect tent. “Hm? Oh… yes. Quite.”

“I saw a fireball spell. Was there an attack?”

It was endearing to see Fenris worried about him. “No,” Anders reassured his bristling friend. “I needed a flatter space for the tent.”

“We. Are. In. A. Field!” A vein throbbed in the elf’s temple. “Anyone could have seen it a mile away!”

“There is no one around for several miles. Relax.”

“ARRGH!” _Did the mage not get it? Safety first and always was a necessary habit. HABIT!_ His knuckles whitened on the sword hilt and he thrust it back into its scabbard, teeth grinding. Finally he spat out, “Make dinner.”

“Woah! I am not your slave to order around!” protected Anders.

Fenris physically flinched as he winced. He mumbled out an apology followed by, “Would you please make some dinner for us?”

“The tent is super warm,” replied the mollified mage. “Why don’t you go inside and get warmed up. I’ll bring food in as soon as it is ready.”

A warm and fed Fenris was a much less grumpy Fenris. Anders stretched and made himself comfortable. “I have had my nose in that elven magic book all day. Why don’t you read aloud from one of your book?”

It was the right choice of words. Fenris dug out one of the books he got as a Winter Solstice gift. He was even coaxed to lean back against Anders’ chest for added warmth and comfort while he read. They shared the remains of a near-empty bottle of apple-brandy between page turns.

Fenris shivered a little, not feeling quite warm enough. “Let me warm you,” murmured Anders. At the shiver, Anders sparks a little magic into his fingers and touches them to Fenris’ brands. Heat courses through the brands startling Fenris.

He springs from his spot. “How dare you! Magic! You promised to WARN ME!” yelled Fenris as he started grabbing his boots to leave.  
  
“You were chilly, I was just going to warm you up. What did you expect me to do?” Anders asked with exasperation.

Fenris’ ears darkened several shades pink to a deep fuscia. He refused to answer. Instead, he snatches his coat and boots.  
  
“Wait!” Anders lunged and caught Fenris. The two tumbled into a tangled struggle, “Just… stop… for… Fenris, stop. I’m not… I… FENRIS!” He pinned the elf; it was such a rarity for him to end up on top. It was also the worst thing to do that spoiled the evening even further as the lyrium brands flashed brightly and Fenris roared, throwing Anders off. The warrior yanked on his boots and left with his coat in his fist. “Fenris… I’m sorry…” Anders sighed. Better to leave Fenris to cool off yet again.  
  
Fenris pulled on his coat as he stomped a few dozen feet from the camp. At the lone skinny tree, he struck it with his fist. It bent, the collected snow on its branches dropping over Fenris’ head and sliding through the neck of his poorly secured coat. Then it swung back with a retaliating fwap in his face. Venting and banishing the feeling of entrapment and humiliation were not working out this way with the almost sapling. Could this evening go any worse? He swiftly tossed the thought away, because he knew the answer and did not wish to invite such potential catastrophe. He knew logically that Anders did not mean it, but Anders should have known. He stepped into long strides and sweeping motions of the bladed swan fan style of his training, trying to balance his emotions. It was hours before he felt he would not accidentally snap and kill the person he promised to protect.

Anders curled up, giving Fenris space and time. He knew it turned out wrong but he could not fix what he had done. And he could not let go of the idea that Fenris might actually have wanted something else. Had he only been a tiny bit more patient and asked how Fenris wanted to be warmed. He cast another heat spell in the tent for his upset friend. Over the time Fenris was outside, Anders drifted into fitful sleep.

It was at this time that Fenris returned to the comfortably warm makeshift abode. He thought about talking to Anders about the several triggers that happened this evening, ideally in a loud angry and growling tone. However, the mage, a sleeping and twitching with edgy night terrors only made him feel like he would be kicking kittens. He knew Anders well enough now, as well as knew the potential darkspawn level of Lothering. Anders would sleep more and more poorly, the closer they got. He tied the tent shut and removed his outer wear and boots. Slowly, he sat down and slid a hand under the sheets and over the mage’s chest. There he gentle circles. If he felt his brands tingle with the hints of Justice, he lit them for the song to soothe the spirit and in turn soothed Anders with his touch. His other hand moved through strawberry blond locks. He laid down to sleep only once he was certain Anders was sleeping more peacefully.


	3. Lothering

As expected, it took more than a week to reach the Imperial Highway. This part of the Imperial Highway was like a raised bridge-like road the spanned for three miles over ravines, crags, farms, and over the city of Lothering itself. The closer they got to Lothering, the worse Anders’ nightmares were. It had been months since the incident of the Blighted Ship. Fenris had almost forgotten the signs of Anders sensing darkspawn. But as they climbed the overgrown stones of the ramp onto the Imperial Highway and could see over the edge of the siding that ran like a three foot rampart on either side of the road, they could see the chaos. Darkspawn roamed here freely, too many to take on with just the two of them there. 

Anders was caught between two very strong impulses. The first to run and hide. The second to fight these things and remove them from the face of the land forever. He sat on the ground, back to the low wall, hands gripping his staff with white-knuckled tightness. Several spells coming to mind. 

“This is Lothering?” asked Fenris. It was rhetorical. He knew it was Lothering. Anders had been regaling him on yet another history lesson for the last 48 hours. And yet, this version of Lothering didn’t quite match up to the historical description, or even to Hawke’s descriptions of “home”.  

This city was hardly a city by Frenris’ standards. It was so small. There was a chantry on the south side with a smattering of houses and fenced livestock farms. The livestock areas were torn up mudholes stained in blood and decomposing creatures dusted over with snow. The chantry seemed mostly intact… seemed. A fouled stream split the town. This stream burbled yellowish green and flowed narrowly under the raised bridge-like highway. No, it had not frozen over in the winter cold. Beyond the stream the town collected in clumps of ruined buildings. It looked like there was one inn… one. One inn hardly qualified a place as a city. Even a town was pushing the definition. To Fenris, this was more like a small village. Fallow fields and some wild forest spread overgrown and buried in snow to the north. Darkspawn were around every corner down in the village. 

They chose to take the highway to try to avoid the darkspawn. There would be no visiting of Hawke’s old home. The ramp up the highway had occasional stones raised as if by a terrible earthquake, but it was still manageable to make one’s way. Evidence of bandits having turned over carts and attacked people for whatever they had as they had fled appeared everywhere jutting from the snow. Old wreckages from the Fifth Blight years ago when Hawke fled with his family.  

It was by error that they thought they could use this route to pass over Lothering entirely. They had stopped to crouch and rethink their route. No choice. The bridged road had crumbled away in parts leaving wide gaps with almost 100 foot drops to the stone remnants below. Across the gap from where they huddled was the toll booth. A small outpost building, remarkably, intact stood along the highway that often had supplies. Another larger gap could be seen after it.  

Fenris ducked back behind the low wall to sit on the icy stone road with Anders. He felt the tingling prickle of Justice trying to surface. He reached over about to rest a reassuring hand on Anders’ but just beyond them, he could see the way they had come becoming congested with hurlocks, human-once, now tainted.  

“We’re trapped,” Anders voice was overlaid with Justice. 

Fenris growled, “I need Anders, not you.” 

“He needs me.” 

Fenris didn’t have time for this argument. “He needs to use his magic.” Fenris stood, drawing his great blade and hoping all the practicing meant he could be as smooth in battle encumbered by winter clothing. Behind him was a gap in the road. It was a long enough drop to die from if one fell.  

“We can use magic.” Anders/Justice stood, the smoking blue hue of the spirit shining through Anders skin and eyes. Buffing spells augmented Fenris as usual. Anders gripped the staff tight in his hands. This was the first real major fight they were going to be in where he would use the staff. Did it have enough power? Would it even work for casting? Fenris hoped, for there was no time left to prepare. 

With a roar and lit brands, Fenris leapt into the fray. His great sword swung, slashing, scattering darkspawn. Spells arced overhead. Lightening crackled to char a few of the enemy that stood too close together. A blast of magebolt struck a Hurlock off the bridge.

Thick in the fight, Fenris was surrounded but holding his own. Anders’ energy was waning without lyrium potions to help or the safety of extra warriors to guard him from the encroaching enemy. Fenris felt long before he saw the glow of Justice winking out. He felled one more Hurlock and pivoted to direct his attention back to the mage… who could not be seen through the wall of five darkspawn. Dread slithered down the elf’s spine and galvanized him into motion. With a guttural yell, he charged them. How dare they get close to HIS Anders, HIS mage, HIS charge, his friend.  

Blood and gore flew with each sweep of the great blade. There was to be no mercy from Mercy today. Once cleared of the filthy darkspawn, Fenris froze in his tracks. Anders was down, sprawled in the reddening and blackening snow. The elf’s throat constricted in panic. He leapt forward and shook the mage, hoping he merely collapsed from spending all his mana. Those amber eyes remained closed. Fenris did a quick search of the mage’s body for wounds. A gash had cut through the coat at abdominal level and blood was slowly soaking the fabric and leather. The wound itself didn’t seem too deep, nor lethal. Anders organs remained intact and within his body, much to the elf’s relief. He turned Anders a little more and cradled his head with a hand to try to encourage the mage to wake when his hand felt the warm damp stickiness he hoped never to feel.  

He swallowed hard and hugged Anders to his chest so he could peer over Anders’ shoulder. His fingers gingerly felt where the blood collected and oozed from a lump on the back of the mage’s head. His keen hearing did not pick up the sounds of breathing. Panic again stabbed at Fenris and he listened more carefully. Nope, there was no breathing. He let out a distressed expletive sound and lowered Anders to the ground again, frantically trying to figure out what to do. His fingers flexed a few times while thinking, then swiftly yanked off his clawed gauntlet from one hand. He yanked the bindings of Anders’ coat and pressed his hand to the chest to feel if the mage’s heart was beating. Nothing. “GAH!!” A strange ghostly form seemed to rise from Anders, like a foggy cloak of a knight. “GAH! NO!” Justice was starting to separate from the mage as each second passed in this still death. “NO!” Fenris did the only thing he could think of and prayed it was enough, and not damaging. He phased his hand and shoved it into the mages chest, gripping the heart and… as carefully as he could pumped it in as close a proximity to a normal beating heart as he could, pausing now and then to see it the heart beat on its own. His own heart raced much harder than when he was in battle. 

Anders gasp, body convulsing, eyes locked on Fenris. His hands grappled suddenly at the wrist around the hand in his chest. The blue hue overlaying him snapped back within him. He convulsed again and passed out, becoming limp in Fenris’ arms once more. He still breathed. His heart continued to beat on its own. Fenris eased his hand from Anders’ chest and hugged him tightly as he panted in relief. The head wound still bled though. Anders must have been knocked down hard enough for his head to smack sharply against the skewed stones on the road.  

They could not stay here. Anders needed help. Needed healing. At the very least, they needed shelter where they would not be attacked again by darkspawn. Green eyes roved about for a solution. Going back along the road was out of the question. He could see more darkspawn making their way up the ramp to the highway. Leaping down was also out of the question. They were too high off the ground to land safely, or even alive, and the village below had more darkspawn than the road. There was the toll booth building across the gap, but the gap was dangerously wide. Fenris eased Anders back to the ground and got up to check the gap, evaluate the distance down and across. He might be able to leap it. Darkspawn could be heard on the road now. There was no time left to speculate. He had to make the leap. If they stayed, they would both surely die. If they leapt, they had a chance of survival. And if they fell to their death, well staying was death anyhow. Better to have tried and died than to have never tried at all.  

Fenris shoved their packs behind some protruding stones, stuffing the blade and staff with them and hoping the darkspawn did not care to search for their supplies. He called upon the power of his brands and scooped the mage into his arms. He backed up as far as he dared, the darkspawn almost within reach of him. And ran. Ran straight for the gap in the bridged road. Without looking down, he leapt. 


	4. Fenris, the Healer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by art: Hurt Anders Sketch Dump by P-JoArt on Deviant Art.  
> http://p-joart.deviantart.com/art/Hurt-Anders-sketch-dump-540146907

Fenris landed teeth-shatteringly hard. In hindsight, he recalled the rogues of their group rolling when they made such leaps. He straightened up and looked back as the glimmer from his brands faded. That leap was more manageable than he thought. The darkspawn collected along the edge and made a great deal of noise at them as they waved their weapons. One or two misstepped, falling to their deaths below.  

Fenris carried the mage to the small building where he tried the door. Locked. “Festi Vas!” he cursed. He set Anders down and phased his hand through the door to unlock it from the inside. He was greatly relieved that THIS door was not protected by magic unlike the one he had last tried this with. He hauled the mage into the building and onto the single cot there.  

“Dammit, Mage, I am a warrior not a healer!” He paced the small interior trying to figure out what to do. Stop the bleeding. That was important. He pulled off Anders’ winter clothes in order to find the wounds, and then he ransacked the toll booth for medical supplies. While in the building, the darkspawn grew bored with no target. Fenris peeked outside to check now and then because medical supplies were certainly in their gear stashed on the other side of the gap. Darkness was falling. Anders chances of surviving were falling too. The mage was shivering in the cold. However, if Fenris lit the little fireplace to warm the room, then the darkspawn would return. “Hang in there, Anders.”  

He streaked out and leapt the gap again. A few darkspawn lingered and he dispatched them quickly. His next challenge was juggling the gear, a staff, and a great sword in order to make the leap again. He remembered to roll this third time. Rolling with gear was… graceless to say the least. He landed in a tangled heap if straps, packs, weapons and snow piled near the little building. Once sorted out, he locked himself and Anders in the building and started a fire. By the light of the fire, he found medical supplies in their gear. He looked at one foreign object after another and a fist full of bandages wondering what to do. There were no more healing potions left and no supplies for Anders to brew any, not that Anders was in any state to do so. Fenris reminded himself of the bleeding and things Anders often said about wounds. “Wash them clean and bandage them tight to heal them right.” 

He got to it. He stripped the mage, bracing himself for the sight of so many scars. A folded clean shirt rested under the golden head to hopefully stop the bleeding of the head wound while Fenris dealt with what he could see and somewhat figure out how to heal. Why couldn’t Anders just wake up and make this easier?! Fenris cleaned the wounds with water made from melted snow. Snow was clean right? He boiled it first. That was good right? The warrior sure hoped so. He then bandaged around Anders stomach and arm and every other cut and gash. The head wound had stopped bleeding by the time he got to it, so he cleaned it carefully and left it be. 

The first couple days passed in dreaded silence. Fenris sorted the gear and supplies. He sorted the gear and supplies left behind in this locked building. He rewashed Anders’ wounds and rebandaged them. He washed clothing and boiled the soiled bandages. He prayed he was doing this right. He sat in the silence on the side of the small bed, sometimes illuminating the room with his brands as he tested his finer control of them without pain. Such a gift Anders had given him. There was still the risk of being controlled, but that too was lessened.  

Each day, the bandages came away cleaner, less bloody, but the mage still did not wake. Fenris spooned broth into the mage’s mouth and washed any soiled bedding. Exhaustion started to weigh heavily on the distressed warrior who still had not slept. On the third day, Fenris sat for hours on the bedside in just his pants as he had the fire very hot to sterilize the morning’s bandages. He sighed heavily and concluded he much preferred the annoying babbling of the mage to this silence. He finally gave in and curled on the outer edge of the bed, back to his mage so he could watch the door. His great sword lay within reach on the floor where he need only dangle his hand. He got up to remove the boiled bandages and hang them by the fire to dry, then returned to his place on the cot to try to sleep. 

Fenris slept harder than he expected or intended. He felt more comfortable than he had in all his life and wondered why. Before opening his eyes, he did a mental body check. Anders had rolled over in the night to spoon close behind and around the elf. Fenris chose not to disturb this moment. He merely lifted his arm to rest it over Anders’ arm and snuggled closer to the greater heat source of the mage. Fenris drifted back to sleep with greater comfort knowing his mage was alright. 

The next morning Anders sat up in bed with the strangest smile Fenris had ever seen. “What?” asked the elf. 

“You really do care about me,” said the mage, slightly bemused by Fenris’ sudden awkward shuffling. 

“Just… heal yourself and get dressed. We are almost out of supplies and need to find someplace to get more.” 

Anders was glad for the rush to leave. The constant whispering of darkspawn was unnerving, especially with Justice lingering ever closer to take over as he had in the battle. Dressed and ready to go, they pilfered anything this little building had to offer by way of supplies, which really was very little after several days of Fenris tending Anders. The snuck off at dawn, Fenris leaping back and forth across the smaller gap so they could go back the way they came and take a different route. They came, they saw, and now they will run away. There was nothing left in Lothering worth seeing and no way to get through the darkspawn with just the two of them to go to Hawke’s old home for anything that might have been there. Fenris intended to write a letter about this for Varric to send to Hawke.

 


	5. Brothel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started out as a Fenders prompt... now it is here. Anders in a brothel.

Two more weeks on the road and winter’s worst was finally over. It was still snowy and cold and generally unpleasant. And a small incident yesterday cost them their tent. They stood outside a large building on the side of the road that seemed busy and noisy. Travelers seemed to visit this place often and Fenris did not like the high profile feel. “Look we are out of money and we need a place to sleep. It is freezing outside, even for me.” Anders shot Fenris a sharp look that brooked no argument. “I know what I am doing.”

Green eyes rolled almost dramatically, “I have heard that before.”

Anders opened the door to the brothel. “I do know what I am doing, Fenris. I’ve done it before.” His tone remained flat and he walked into the warm environ of the Red Lantern Pub & Brothel, a low class whorehouse that served also as an inn and place for travelers to get food, drink and entertainment.

Fenris flicked a look up at the glowing red lantern above the door thinking that this will forever be a symbol representing a “sanctuary of healing.” The elven warrior stumbled a moment as Anders words caught up with his understanding. Anders had done this before? Done… what… exactly?

Anders walked to the bar and asked for the matron or patron of the locale. He set down their travel packs, leaned his staff against the bar beside a stool, and removed his coat. He smiled charmingly at everyone who passed him, employee or customer alike.

Fenris hung back uncomfortably and allowed a waitress to guide him to a table and get him mulled wine. He watched Anders covertly, distrusting what the mage had planned and disliking the thoughts that crept into his mind as possible explanations to Anders’ early comments.

Anders was free with his compliments and his subtle touches, even allowing some in return till the matron arrived. She looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow. Anders smiled at her as well. “Greetings, m’lady. I find myself and my traveling companion in need of rooms for a couple days, maybe a week. And a means of earning some coin. I am not without my talents.”

“I saw. I should charge you a copper for everyone you touched.”

Anders chuckled unabashedly. “Then I should equally receive a copper for every customer who stays for those touches. But those were not the first talents I wanted to offer. You see, I am an apostate healer. I can heal… anything your employees might find… awkward or problematic for their work for you. I have done this in Denerim’s Pearl and Kirkwall’s Blooming Rose. If the supplies are available, I can also craft some remedies for you to carry you through the winter after I leave. That… for room and board for myself and that sour brooding elf over there. He can offer you bouncing and guard service to deal with any trouble makers.”

The matron leaned her plump hip against the bar and surveyed the elf at a far corner table. She returned her critical gaze to Anders. “I’ll try you out for your meals this evening. If you prove true to your word, then you may stay the night. You said you wanted to earn coin. How talented are you at entertaining? Your hands and words are free with both man and women; I suppose you are not picky.”

Anders blushed slightly, “No, I am not picky. I can sing some and dance if need be. I know a number of brothel appropriate songs I used in the Pearl. If I can earn thus without bedding anyone, then that would be ideal, but I will not turn down good gold and silver to warm someone’s bed. I have only three restrictions. No bondage. I do not remove my shirt… and the elf is off limits or I burn the place to the ground.” He leveled his gaze at the matron who tensed briefly but soon took it in stride with a nod.

“Room 11. One of my girls got herself pregnant and is doing poorly. Deal with it and then heal Simmion in room 19. You get food after.” She paused. “Your names?”

“Fenris is the elf. I am Dale, short for Dalish Dancer.”

The matron raised a brow, “Can you do the Dalish veil dancing?”

“A version of, yes.”

~~~

Fenris had listened carefully and almost broke his mug of mulled wine as he watched Anders climb the stairs out of sight. He did not think, or more hope, that Anders was not suggesting what he had suggested. Fenris did not know how he felt about this arrangement. Anders… singing and dancing that Dalish dance for coin. Anders… being touched by… anyone. It soured his mood further and he would have harsh words with the mage as soon as he could.

Anders headed to room 11, expecting a young girl fretting over a newly discovered pregnancy. Instead, he found a young elven woman close or well past her birthing time, yet still with a swollen belly. She lay on a bed on her side and did not look well at all. She would be dead in a day or two at this rate and he knew that was all too common for these brothels along the long traveling roads.

Anders set his belongings down and spoke gently to her. “Hello, Miss. My name is Dale. I am a healer.” He set a nearby stool beside the bed and touched her brow. She looked up at him, sweat damp and exhausted. “How long have you been in labour?”

“Since… since yesterday….” she spoke in the barest whisper.

Anders carefully seeped his magic in to ease pain and check on the vitals of both woman and unborn. He nodded to himself. “I can help you. You and your son. I recommend thinking up a name for him while I go fetch my friend to help and some water and cloths.” His reassuring smile stirred hope in her eyes as was intended. She nodded and Anders headed back downstairs to Fenris.

Fenris opened his mouth to start to lay into Anders, but Anders touched his fingers to Fenris’ lips, both startling the elf and silencing him instantly. “Yell at me later. I need your help. Come with me and do exactly as I say or mother and child will both die tonight.” Anders headed back upstairs passing a comment to an idle waitress, “I need three basins of hot water and a good many clean towels in room 11.”

Fenris followed Anders into the room and froze in the doorway.

“Fenris. You need only hand me what I need when I ask. Nothing more.” Anders could see the embarrassment and uncertainty flying in the elf’s expression.

It took but a couple hours for Anders to work his unique brand of magic with the woman and bring a child into the world. He added a strengthening spell for the woman as he wrapped the wailing boy in a warm towel. He carefully tied off and cut the umbilical cord, washed the babe and put the child in Fenris’ arms. The elf looked almost panicked as he instantly sat on the trunk afraid to move. Anders returned to the woman to help her with the afterbirth and clean her up, readying her to rest.

Fenris remained silent through the whole process, too awed by the experience of watching a small life come into existence. Awed that Anders did this as miraculously as Athenril’s men had called him, vir atish’an. The new mother even called Anders that. Anders had blushed and asked her to rest.

The baby wailed a few more minutes as Fenris watched him with wide green eyes. The baby soon quieted, staring back into those same green eyes. The corner of Fenris’ mouth curled up in amazement. As a familiar shadow fell over them, Fenris spoke deeply and softly, “He is so small.”

Anders bent over to peak at the child. “He is, but he’ll grow. Do you mind holding the boy a little longer while I finish cleaning up?” He didn’t bother to wait for the answer. He knew Fenris could not tear his gaze away from the baby to even look up at Anders when he spoke. Anders stole small glances back at Fenris as he cleaned up and tried to not let the giddy flutter inside him show too much. He wished he could capture this moment and that look in a drawing to remind him that Broody, as Varric called Fenris, was not always broody.

With reluctance, Fenris gave up the baby so it could be with its mother.

Anders guided the elf out of the room. “Please ask a waitress to check on her and the baby, Fenris. And… ask for some food for us. I will need it after this.”

Fenris nodded. “Anders. I have no words for what I have just witnessed.”

“Yes you do. It is called life. Or beauty. Are you okay with what I am doing here?”

Fenris dropped his eyes. “I have to admit you to be right. You do know what you are doing. I am, however, not comfortable with your ideas of how to raise coin.” He had intended to yell about this, to shake sense into the mage. But after watching Anders and the birthing, then trusted to hold that small life in his hands, there simply was no anger in him.

“I know Fenris. I won’t do it if it is not necessary. I might just sing. I will ask for a shared room and they can all think I am taken and you are my lover who does not share me.” Anders tried not to blush as some part of him wanted to be just that.

Fenris’ ears turns a slight pink and to Anders surprise replied, “Yes. Do that.” Fenris headed down to let the matron know of the birth and their decisions and to seek food.

Anders headed to room 19 to see Simmion and was glad Fenris was not in attendance for this. Anders already knew Fenris to be extremely squeamish about genital infections and diseases.

Anders joined Fenris downstairs after for an excellent meal while they watched men and women mill about the room entertaining and enticing the clients. One woman sauntered over with all the sway and confidence of Isabella. She bent over, elbows onto the table and then chin in her hands. Her cleavage exposed to both mage and elf. “So, one of you can entertain I hear.” She scanned Fenris and his tattoos appreciatively. Fenris would not even look at her bosom, but met her eyes with a cold stare. She turned her gaze to Anders next and was met by warm and inviting amber eyes and an equally warm and inviting smile.

Anders placed a hand gently on Fenris’ shoulder and then kissed the elf’s cheek, causing a heat to flash red from that spot across the bridge of Fenris’ nose and over to the other cheek. The mage stood and offered a polite bow to the woman. “I can sing. Do you know, Lady in Red? It was popular in Denerim’s Pearl.” He slid from his chair and over to the stage to prove he could entertain. He set a pouch open wide on the little stage and waited for curious silence to fall. He unlaced his shirt a little, exposing a small but fine collection of pale blond hairs. He cleared his throat and began to sing, his tenor voice clear and high through the song, stealing away many breaths… including Fenris’.


	6. Dalish Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know there is going to be trouble...

A few days in this environment had given some decent money for Anders’ entertainment. Not enough to carry them to the docks of Gwaren, however, nor enough to get them into elven territory and back again. Usually Anders stuck to potion making in the back or healing staff as needed. Every evening, he came out and walked the room with a light sway in his hips and a secret smile. He spoke to everyone, working the room. As he passed Fenris, he would kiss the elf on the cheek and move on, causing the stoic warrior to turn crimson to his ear tips and giving a general message to all that he wasn’t exactly available. Finally, he would settle on the stage to sing and collect coin from his songs. On occasion, he would dance something simple, yet suggestive.

It drove Fenris mad. The mix of protectiveness and extremely awkward arousal had him in the most confused and frustrated state. When they retired to their shared room, he paced and growled for hours. Especially about a certain middle-aged man who had come frequenting to watch the “Dalish Dancer” with hungry eyes.

“We should move on,” snarled Fenris one evening.

Anders was counting out their coin, “Uh… we don’t have enough for travel supplies. We won’t get very far. Unless you miraculously learned how to hunt in late winter when game is scarce.”

Fenris growled again and thumped his fist against a table, rocking Anders’ tea mug. “I don’t like how he looks at you.”

Anders finished counting the coin and tied it in the pouch, stashing it in their pack under the bed and casting a trap spell upon it. “Who? That merc?”

“Yes… him.”

“Oh. I will clean him out tomorrow. The matron of the inn has been pushing me for a proper Dalish Dance, or reasonable facsimile.” Anders smiled his secret smile. “You watch me too, you know.”

“PHAW!” Fenris stormed off to have a bath, and tend to the uncomfortable sensation in his pants.

Anders saved his chuckle till after the door closed leaving him alone in the room.

The blond flowed down the stairs the next evening to work the room as he usually did, talking with people and smiling, charming them all. Again, he had been asked for the Dalish Veil Dance, some now doubting he could actually do it.

The merc that was the subject of the mild spat between Anders and Fenris set down a gold coin. “One now just to get you onto the stage. Another if you dance well.” He fingers three others with a suggestive smile.

Anders leaned on the table with a hand and a hip and just poked the coin with a finger, “Match the fee with the house, and you can have me for the night.”

“Done.”

Anders picked up his gold treasure and dropped it into a little pouch tucked in his clothes. He sauntered to the stage and spoke with the musicians for a moment. The room grew quiet with curiosity as he stepped up onto the stage with his back to everyone.

His hands slowly extended outward, turning delicately as if in invitation, till the palms faced up. The music a mysterious slow coil on a flute seemed to flow through Ander’s leg down to his foot. His heel rose, toe barely touching the floor, then suddenly landing as a drum’s thump to start the rhythmic beat that his hips joined. His arms spread wide as he turned a slow circle, abdomen rolling just enough that the patrons could tell the motion under his shirt. His sash with the tiny bells jingling signalled the shimmies of this seductive elvish dance across the stage.

Fenris tried his best not to look. It seemed extremely taboo to see Anders move his shoulders and hips in snaps and circles as if advertising just how good he might be to have sex with.

Anders was fire. Anders was water. Anders was air. The elements that jingled, shished, thudded to stir the breath and the heartbeat. No one dared not stare in case they missed something. Lifts and drops matched the quick and slow beat. Anders removed the sash to serve as the veil for this dance, hiding some aspect of his body as other parts undulated.

Fenris ripped his eyes away for the seventh time and fixed them on his tankard, swallowing the building hunger and wishing the burning in his cheeks and ears and loins would ease. He threw the remains of his ale down his throat when he heard the music wind down after what must have been an ecstatic, orgasmic crescendo. He praised the Maker it was over. After counting to ten, maybe twenty, he thought he could stand without embarrassment. Time to take that frustrating mage back to their room and have a chat with him… or maybe… something else.

Anders was no longer on the stage. The brooding elf scanned the room and saw him heading up the stairs… with THAT merc.


	7. Broken Promise (part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW  
> Anders and the merc in a private room  
> NSFW

Anders did not particularly care whether it was the sway of his posterior or his jocose demeanor that caught the merc’s eye. He figured it was more the former than the latter. The coin is what Anders cared most about at the moment. It was enough for him and Fenris to pack up and leave in the morning. Anders felt too antsy about how long they had lingered here already. Staying in one place too long meant they might get found and so… they needed to go. But without enough coin, that was impossible… till now.

The merc closed the door behind him and surveyed the small room assigned to them for the night. “That wasn’t a real Dalish veil dance, not that I expected a non-elf to perform one correctly. However, it was close enough for me to wornder how well you knew the Dalish and which clan trusted you enough to teach you any of it.”

Anders gave his best mysterious coy smile.

“Come now, tell me something about where you came from and how you learned this.”

“Long ago,” Anders started, “Some darkspawn showed up in my village. I was out trying to prove I was not a child, trying to hunt something to make my father proud. When I came back… everyone was dead and darkspawn were moving through our few homes. It is not really a nice story.”

The Merc sat on the edge of the bed and put up a foot fully expecting Anders to remove the proffered boot, which he did. “I have seen my share of all that and worse during the blight. Go on.”

“I ran away. I was only about 10 and I was really scared. Darkspawn are not deer. They are scary. I ran and ran… it was Dalish clan hunter that eventually found me curled under a bush half starved. I thought he would leave me there to die. Many Dalish are not fond of humans. But the hunter was with their Keeper for some reason. I don’t remember why anymore, it was so long ago. They took me in and raised me. I learned a lot.”

The second boot followed the first, then the merc gestured for Answers to remove his clothes. Anders started with his vest, sash, socks (for he never wore his boots when he was working the floor). The merc studied the blond before him with a gaze that was hard to read. “So why did you not stay with them?”

“I am human. I could not participate in many things and eventually the old Keeper passed away and the new Keeper insisted I leave. So now I wander, doing what I can for coin. Singing, dancing…”

“Fucking…”

“Is that all you want to do, serrah, is fuck me?” Anders teased.

The Merc stood and dropped his pants, “Eventually.” He offered his cock to Anders and pointed to the floor.

Anders smirked as he knelt before the merc, “Can you tell me the tale of you while I do this?”

The man chuffed a short laugh. “You would have to be very damned good with your mouth, better than you are at singing and talking, for me not to.”

Anders smile broadened with confidence. As it turned out, he was surprisingly good. He paced himself carefully to draw it out, easing enough to learn that the merc was travelling to meet up with his company at a fort farther south of here and that he had been in this life since birth. Born a merc and plans to die a merc. That he had to grip the bedpost to keep himself standing when his voice failed him, pleased Anders greatly. Anders wanted very much to do this for Fenris. To share things like this, please him and undo him. It made him hard just thinking about it.

Round one left the merc nicely sated that they shared a drink, both finally just in their loosely hanging shirts. Anders sang just for the merc.

Fenris, growled a great deal and was eventually asked to go to his borrowed room so as to not scare the customers. He paced a few times, listening at the sounds from the room Anders and the merc were occupying. Then stomped off to his shared room and slammed the door so hard the frame gave a slight cracking sound.

Anders glanced at the door, sensing the elf’s passing. Justice whispered in the back of Anders’ mind about how wrong this was and that Anders should walk away. Anders ignored the spirit’s advice.

When asked to get fully naked for the merc, Anders drew his usual hard line. “Not my shirt. I never take it off. Something have to stay reserved for my lover. If this is a problem, then you can keep your coin and I walk out now.” He always saved this till last. It was a risk. He could get stuck in a fight that ended with him raped and exposed. Not just naked, but his identity carved right there: APOSTATE. It would cost him his life. But the risk was usually worth it. The customer got a taste of how good he was and wanted more, usually enough to accept the limitation.

This seemed true enough this time with this merc, too. However, the merc intended for Anders to pay for the surprise in another way. He strode over, hand tugging himself good and stiff. The blond raised a curious eyebrow and quirked a half-grin. The grin did not last as the merc shoved Anders facedown onto the bed, bent him over and gripped his hips. Anders gasped in surprise as the merc shoved himself hard into the mage. Anders gripped the sheets and clenched his teeth to endure. One hand fisted in the back of Anders’ shirt, adding enough pressure to keep Anders pressed to the bed, the other dug bruisingly into Anders’ hip to keep it raised and at the right angle… for the merc. The merc rammed into him with no care till he finished himself off. The merc wiped himself with the bedsheet and redressed. “That was good, Dalish Dancer. We will have to do this again.” He strode from the room as soon as he shoved his feet in his boots, leaving a bag of coin on the bed, tossed haphazardly over his shoulder as he left.

Anders had forgotten it could be like this sometimes. He HATED just being fucked like that. It hurt without preparation, and he dared not use magic for self-healing. It reminded him of being fucked by a Templar. He doubted there was enough bath water to make him feel clean at the moment. Grinding his teeth, he pulled on his clothes and limped to his room where he was faced with fierce green eyes and an angry form of a white-haired elf.


	8. SPAT

What a sight to see! Those blond locks fell from the leather tie in a tangled mess. Rumpled hardly suited the sight of Anders. His pants had barely been tied well enough to not fall. His shirt hung loose over them, tucked in slightly on one side. It was the sight of a freshly fucked man. Hawke would proudly call this the post-sex dress. Fenris did not think there was anything of this look to be proud of, less so seeing it on Anders. He ground his teeth as jealous locked his tongue to the roof of his mouth for the moment. He felt the very same when Hawke dragged him to the Blooming Rose and then wandered off to fuck someone in some other room, leaving Fenris to fester in jealousy.

Those fierce green eyes glared at the rumpled man in the doorway as Fenris stepped into Anders’ personal space, reached beyond him and slammed the door shut hard enough for all the muscles in Anders body to twitch in nervous tension. They stood almost nose to nose. The elf’s nostrils flared with his fury.

“You promised!” snarled Fenris.

Unlike Hawke, Anders expression was not the sated or over-pleased one. However, Fenris did not yet notice in his anger of the moment.

The mage turned his face away submissively and took an instinctive step back. “I said I would try. The money on offer though was too good.” He dropped the pouch of coin on a nearby table. “Now we have enough for supplies and can leave.” He glanced sideways, still seeing the pinched and scowling face of the elf and snapped, “After all, it is MY body. If I want to fuck or get fucked, I will. Sometimes I need that. You do NOT own me. I am NOT yours to forbid me that…. Besides, it didn’t last very long.”

No, it really hadn’t. Fenris frowned more deeply (if that was even possible). “Did he hurt you?” he managed to growl out. The lack of reply spoke loudly. “I will KILL HIM!” The warrior turned towards the door, already relishing the though of rending sensitive body parts from the merc before ripping out his heart.

“He’s gone. He already left.”

Fenris spun back, “What?!” He thought through the possible reasons for beating such a hasty leave and yet being content to lose so much money over it. None of the options seemed good, too suspicious. “Were you naked?” That seemed a bit of a ridiculous question about Anders having sex.

Appalled about by the query into this evening’s sexual fiasco, Anders gave his shirt a small tug to emphasize his answer. “I NEVER take my shirt off. Never. I don’t trust anyone that much. And… I am NOT stupid!”

“And yet you let him fuck you. Let me guess… like this?” Fenris did not have the words to describe the position, so he shoved Anders down onto the bed, forcing his face into the mattress with a hand behind his shoulder, clenching the fabric of Ander’s shirt. Anders struggled a bit, bent over the side of the bed, but Fenris’ other hand held him pinned by the hip as well while he studied the blond from collar to crotch. As he suspected, he could see the scars and easily infer the word APOSTATE over the now slightly exposed hip and lower back before him. He stepped back, releasing Anders to explain.

The mage pushed off the bed and spun. Hands fisted, one flew backhanded to connect unparried with the elf’s cheek. Fenris thudded to the floor, rolled in recover back to his feet to see Justice shining through Anders’ eyes. “You swore you would never!! I trusted you!”

Fenris searched his recent memories for what triggered this. He inhaled and knew this was his doing. Justices needed to be quieted and swiftly, without incident, without flaring his own brands, without instigating enough lyrium and magic to alert any nearby Templars. He stood slowly, ignoring his throbbing cheek and took the two steps to Anders, embracing him in a sudden hug.

The out of character action, shocked both Anders and Justice. The spirit faded instantly in the confusion.

“I am sorry, my friend. So very sorry. I had no words and needed to know. That merc… he could see your back in that position. He saw, Anders. He knows. If he does not know it is you specifically, he knows he was with an apostate for certain. Anders, my friend, I am sorry.”

The tension melted from the mage’s body and Anders sank down to sit on the bed, a wince as he did. His lips quivered as he struggled with his emotions. He wrapped his arms in turn around the elf’s waist and buried his face in Fenris’ stomach, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs.

“I never meant to distress you,” the words rumbled out in as soothing a purr as Fenris could manage. He stroked reassuringly through Anders’ messy hair, carefully untangling it. He combed his fingers through it and retied the hair back neatly. “I know I do not own you or have any right to forbid you of this choice. I am not comfortable with it, though. It is a risk. And… you were hurt by it. That bothers me. It would be less… uncomfortable if there was no risk, if you would not be hurt, if… if you wanted the other person out of some form of affection. But otherwise… I am right here if your need is so strong. I would be gentle. I would not hurt you. I might need guidance, but… I am not completely unskilled. I am safe… and I… care.”

Anders inhaled a shuddering breath. So many heartfelt words from the warrior touched him deeply. He raises his eyes a moment to meet Fenris’ then buried his face again in the elf’s stomach and hugged him tightly, mumbling his own apologies and that he does care too about the elf. “I did this so we could leave sooner, so you would not have to put up with this for any longer.”

Fenris lifted Anders chin so he could look into those wet and shining eyes. “I know. I will take the coin and get us supplies while you bathe.” He stepped away, handing the mage one of the healing potions Anders was crafting for this ‘inn’. Anders drank it down in silence.


	9. Intimiate Moments (preliminary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an incomplete chapter, but at the same time feels complete, so I am posting it. The next chapter will probably be short (the NSFW aspect that should be at the end of this chapter).

Fenris had almost raised the issue of worth. He wanted to yell earlier at the mage _Have you no sense of self-worth?!_ But knew… KNEW… Anders didn’t. Not really. He was cocky about it sometimes, that he was an amazing healer. The best in the world. But did he really value himself and see himself as worthy? Fenris was sure he did not. The Templars would have seen to that in the Circle. Fenris had read as much in Anders’ journals.

Supplies were procured, and the crafted potions dropped off with the matron of the establishment. Fenris packed while listening to Anders bathe behind a screen. It was a long and silent bath.

The evening had been fraught with a torrent of ups and downs, emotionally for Anders. The bath was hot and barely enough to purge the blond of the merc’s violation. Anders washed slowly, focusing more on Fenris’ words.

 _Anders, my friend, I am sorry._  
You were hurt by it. That bothers me.   
And I… care.

Anders thought about this more. Fenris used his name, called him friend. Hugged him! Held him. Comforted him. Was likely jealous. Jealous? Was there affection? Fenris said he cared. More than that…

 _I am right here if your need is so strong._  
I would be gentle. I would not hurt you.   
I might need guidance, but… I am not completely unskilled.   
I am safe… 

There was an invitation. Anders tried to remember the last time he and Fenris came close to crossing that intimate line. It seemed forever ago, earlier in the winter. Sometime before Winter Solstice. That was weeks ago… months actually. It was still winter. Fereldan winters tended to be long, long enough that people joked that there were only 2 seasons, summer and winter.

Holding onto Fenris’ words gave him the will to finish his bath and get dressed. Fenris had packed everything and even willingly bundled for the journey away from here. It must be a testament to how exposed Fenris must have felt expressing himself to Anders as he had, as well as a testament to how badly he wanted to leave here. He had the map open on the table, scowling at it as Anders approached. “If that merc did see … maybe we should avoid some expected places?” Not that Anders necessarily knew what would be a likely expected place for upstart Templars to think to find him, especially when he himself did not know where he was going.

“What is Ostagar?” asked Fenris.

“Too far to get to from here in any reasonable about of walking time. It is maybe a day or two away. It used to be the largest Warden outpost and training area in southern Fereldan till it was overrun in the Fifth Blight. When I joined the Wardens, it had been cleared out of darkspawn, but was such a ruin that it was abandoned. There are… ghosts there.”

Fenris gave Anders a very skeptical look with a raised eyebrow. He did not believe in ghosts. “Good. No one will want to be there. That will be our next major destination. For now, I say we get to this warden waystation for tomorrow night, then hit Ostagar by the next day.”

“And if it is full of Wardens rebuilding it?”

Rolling the map, “Then we bypass it for the next nearest village farther south towards the Brecilian Forest.”

“Do you want to meet the Dalish in this area? I think we should. They can help me with the book you gave me. The magic Danarius used on you, that I am having trouble getting rid of… I am sure they can help.”

“Then it is decided,” Fenris stated. “Waystation, Ostagar or village, Brecilian Forest.” This was close to the goal after all. “We should resupply in the village anyhow.”

They said their goodbyes to the late night staff and headed out into the cold snowy night. Fenris shivered despite his bundling. A week or more in that comfortable place caused him to forget how frigid it was outside and how insipid the landscaped looked, not just insipid but bleak. They were still slowly trudging cross country to stick to the bits of brush for cover. Anders knew the smallest bit of ice magic and used it to cover their tracks.

By noon, they saw the Warden Waystation. When they reached it, it was a somewhat sorry sight. Not as sorry a sight as the dilapidated forest house they stayed in, but certainly not well-cared for. “We should send a letter to the wardens about the poor quality of this waystation.”

Somehow, that seemed funny. Anders started to giggle, and by the time his medallion opened the door, he was guffawing and almost rolling on the floor in uncontrolled laughter. The elf’s eyebrow raised slowly wondering if maybe the mage finally lost his mind. Oh wait, no… that was not possible. He was certain Anders lost his mind a long while ago. Soon even the elf could not resist the huffed chortles of the contagious laughter. It took a good whole candlemark for them to settle down and investigate the state to the waystation.

Small, but manageable. The supplies were completely gone, but they had come with their own. The walls and roof were solid, as was the window. There were no vermin. The woodpile had enough wood for maybe five days. Once it was roaring away in the small fireplace and the one-room station felt comfortably hot, they divested themselves of the heavy winter wear. Fenris fetched snow and filled a clean barrel they can draw from. He did not trust the pump to the small well mostly buried in snow. It would surely be frozen and unusable.

Fenris stretched, feeling so much more relaxed here and on the road than having a constant protective eye on his mage back at that ‘inn’. Long languid stretches. Yes, this was MUCH better. Everything was again on his terms. He turned to ask the mage about lunch and faltered. His ears started to burn as he noticed Anders was just watching him, with serious appreciation. Fenris coughed his embarrassment into his hand, “Lunch?”

“Uhhh… OH! Oh yes, of course. Lunch. Then maybe sleep? We had none last night and walked so much.” Anders feigned a huge, jaw-cracking yawn.

The warrior grunted ascent. “Are you healed from what that Merc did to you?”

“Once I have eaten, I will heal myself and get some sleep. Then I will be fit and fine and ready to rut my way to blissful oblivion!”

Fenris turned several shades of red at Anders crass joking and had to remind himself of two things. One, he started it with the question in the first place. And two, humor was Anders way of dealing with things that made him uncomfortable. He retaliated with a simple, “good,” leaving the mage to wonder a great deal of the intentions. Fenris smirked, pleased with his own humor.

“By Andraste’s knickers flung to the wind! You are flirting and teasing!”

Fenris coughed into his hand and turned his back to the mage, gazing out the small window. Anders bounced over and wrestled the elf into the sweater he had worn and thus warmed, just like before. The elf grumbled less and allowed a small moment of being hugged before Anders negotiated lunch for them both.

While they really wanted to sleep in the sunlight coming through the window, it was prudent to keep the windows covered while they napped the afternoon away.


	10. Intimate Moments (NSFW)

Heavy sleep in so much quiet actually forced Fenris to wake. He slowly opened his eyes to meet the warm amber gaze of the mage who should have been also sleeping. “Why are you awake?”

The mage gave a small shrug, “I haven’t been awake long.”

“You are watching me.”

Anders gave a small chuckle, “You have been watching ME all week.” That earned him the sight of those long elven ears flushing pink into their dusky tones. Anders lightly touched the edge of one and heard the elf swallow hard. “I was thinking about what you said last night. How you are here, if my need is so strong. Were you really offering what I think you were? That you would be gentle, slow, not hurt me? That… you might need guidance, but aren’t wholly unskilled? I know you are very good at massage. I think my knee could really use your help with the healing salve. But… well… Are you sure? Is that offer still on the table? Is it what YOU want? Because I am not your master and never will be. I am your friend.” He bit his lower lip a moment and whispered, “Friend with some extra benefits who might want to be more than just a friend, but I didn’t think you would… want…”

The tips of dark fingers covered the mage’s mouth, preventing further words. “Yes.” It was a simple reply that applied to all those questions. He sat up and added a couple more logs to the fire to warm the waystation more before removing the borrowed sweater and some layers of clothing. It was his turn to hear the mage swallow hard as he watched Fenris undress and fetch the healing salve.

Anders wriggled swiftly and eagerly out of all his clothes, except his loose shirt.

Fenris returned with a throaty deep chuckle at the mage’s silliness. The lighthearted smile that greeted him was so genuine that it stole his breath. So rare a sight, he stared a long while, kneeling there, memorizing it just in case. This was what he was trying to preserve, save. Not what, who. A man with silly joy in him, willing to sing and dance from the soul of him, self-sacrificing in his devotion to heal others, who brings small newborn lives into the world. He wanted to kiss him, but dare not. Fenris pulled his gaze away and focused on the knee, massaging away the pain as he noted the fresh bruising from last night.

When he was done massaging the knee, he slid his hands up Anders' legs to his hips and heard the blond swallow hard again. Those sage green eyes lifted to look through a veil of white forelock. Anders sucked in an anticipatory breath and leaned back onto his elbows, watching the elf down between his knees and wondering what was to come next, hoping but trying not to hope too hard. Fenris lifted the edge of the shirt, not too far. He did not want to breach what trust he was being given to take this initiative. He lifted just enough to expose a precious stiff member. He briefly marveled at the red-gold curls there. He let out a slow hot breath across the crown to cause that member to twitch and the mage to pant with want.

Amber eyes fluttered half shut as the hot breath was followed by the lightest of touches. Careful fingers cupped and slid softly down the shaft to the base, to play in the fair curls there. This was followed by a wet tongue and warm lips. Anders let out a pleased hum. Then he gasped in surprise as Fenris swallowed him deeply. Anders collapsed onto his back, at the elf’s mercy.

Fenris decided this was much more enjoyable when he chose it on his terms. Danarius would stay standing and guided Fenris for what pleased him most that moment till his seed choked down the elf’s throat. Fenris was no one’s slave now. This time, it was a mage that bent to his ministrations, melting to his will. This mage, HIS mage. His head bobbled slowly, drawing it out. His tongue swirled. His throat closed on the draw. His teeth lightly scraped over a throbbing surface. He paced himself to the heartbeat he could hear and feel.

Anders started to pant loudly, small cries escaping him the closer he came to climaxing. He thought HE knew all there was to know about this method, apparently not. His fingers flexed and gripped air as his started to lose rhythm. That was when Fenris’ brands lit, the lyrium offering a sudden rush not much different than when Anders had used tiny lightning sparks to heighten pleasure. Only this, this filled his mana almost to overflowing and quieted Justice so much so that he was sure he could get addicted to the elf. He threw his head back and arched, wanting to warn Fenris he was … too late… the elf swallowed several times and then pulled away to breathe more deeply.

The warrior dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. He watched Anders laying bonelessly there gulping air. Fenris smirked, pleased with himself. _Stay quiet Spirit. This was for him to know I am not afraid anymore. I never want him to seek out another. He is MINE. And I will protect him with every scrap of myself life._

“Please do not say we should be moving on,” whispered Anders when he had a vague semblance of a voice. “By the Maker… You don’t need any guidance from me!” He sighed, content. “When I can move, will you allow me to reciprocate?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

The elf took a cloth to wipe the mess he had made in the process of pleasing Anders. “I seem to have been as pleased by pleasing you. So, another time, another day.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”


	11. Broken Promise (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Splitting Ways...

The waystation was kept warm enough with the woodpile there. It was the only waystation supply that was well stocked in it. They slept the night on the floor on their bedrolls, close to the fire. The warriors lay on his side facing the door, like a protective wolf watching the only entrance to the den, guarding all the rest within. His breathing was deep and even and steady. The only thing that disturbed it was the slow chill growing in the air as the fire burned down. His discomfort was melted away by the mage he protected, who slept behind him fitfully. Tossing and turning sometimes as Justice struggled to rise and try to influence hunting down the merc before the man could tell a soul about Anders. Annoyed by the constant fidgeting behind him, Fenris wriggled backward, into the mage and reached behind him to tug a tensing arm over his body. This helped keep him warm, but also gave Anders something to hold onto for comfort. The elf lit his brands slowly to ease the spirit back to slumber. The mage sighed and nuzzled the back of Fenris’ neck in sleepy gratitude.

Neither wanted to stir the next morning having slept well the night before. Fenris gruffed reluctantly from where he was buried under blankets and in Anders arms, “We should be moving on.”

“You know, you say that phrase a lot. I would even call it a Fenrisism.”

The elf’s nose wrinkled up and he flung off the blankets to get up.

“HEY!” Anders recoiled in the sudden cold of the morning.

“We should be… That Merc might come looking for us and we are not far enough away. This place might be safe, but we cannot stay. Ostagar is still a few days away.” He handed back the warm sweater he had borrowed and started to pack their gear. Anders grumbled and pouted, but got himself out of the bedrolls and packed them. He wrote a scathing little note in the log book about how this waystation is severely under supplied. They headed out into what turned out to be a very bright and clear day.

They did not miss camping in the winter weather at night. Ostagar could not seem more inviting, even if it was a collection of ruins, it would offer some shelter, hopefully. “What if it has a ton of Wardens inhabiting it and rebuilding it? Or Templars?” worried Anders.

“I will scout it carefully in advance. We will not just march in blind.”

“What if it is crawling with darkspawn all over again?” Anders continued to fret.

Fenris sighed with exasperation, “It isn’t.”

“But how do you know?”

“Because YOU know,” he growled.

“But I don’t. I can’t sense them until they are practically on top of us.”

“I know you know and if you cannot recall, well I watch over your slumber and it has been unbothered by the whispers of the darkspawn.”

Anders stopped walking. He didn’t know others could notice it in his sleep. He hadn’t realized that his guardian really was being a guardian and caring about his sleep. It was endearing, and he smiled a quiet giddy little smile.

The sky turned steel grey as they came into view of Ostegar. Fenris stopped Anders from taking more steps. He needed a moment to just take it in. Ostegar was… looked like it might be as expansive as the city of Kirkwall! He had imagined a large fort. This has a large fort on the east side. A crumbling wall dotted the perimeter of the first half of this military city. Cutting through it was a long frozen over road, bridging the first half of Ostegar to another fort in the middle like a tower, with another bridge to the rear half. He corrected himself. He thought that the middle was the remains of a tower, but as he squinted, it might just be a large round platform. Other forts anchored various corners. However, it was very much in ruin.

Fenris gestured for Anders to crouch and stay with gear behind a huge snow-covered rock. He stepped out to begin scouting.

“We have a spyglass in our pack,” Anders said helpfully.

The resulting fuming steamed from Fenris. All this time? They had a spyglass all this time?! He thrust out his hand for it. Sheepishly, the mage placed in the waiting palm. Fenris peered thru it, moving slowly to take in everything he could see from this position. He crept to another position and look from there at a different angle. A few more places and he returned.

“There is no one there. Nothing moving or alive. And very little in the way of safe shelter. We will head to the fort just there to the east. It is not completely crumbling. We will overnight and then head elsewhere. I need to see the map.” Fenris handed back the spyglass.

“Once we have a warm shelter.”

They trudged through snow that came above their knees as fresh snow started to fall, already covering their tracks. The shelter barely qualified. A fort? They looked up at it warily. “The rotting forest house was better,” complained Fenris, already starting to shiver despite being bundled.

“You have been spoiled by a whore house and waystations.”

“I have not!” the elf snapped.

Anders smiled knowingly to himself for he knew he was right. He watched Fenris stomp about and poke into rooms with holes through the stone walls. While the grump explored, Anders dug through their packs for camping gear. First, he found the map and opened it up. The village was on the other side of a small wooded area. This was worth cutting through and maybe camping in the middle if they could not reach the village proper for an inn. They really could use better supplies. It was still light out, so he also searched for something interesting to read, or have Fenris read out loud. He found something unfamiliar. A wad of folded papers tied firmly with string. “Fenris?” He pulled it from the pack and turned it over in his hands. A stack of letters. At first he figured they were the ones from Varric that Fenris has mentioned weeks ago. He almost stuffed them back into the pack when he saw a bit of the writing. That was not Varric’s. He lifted the corner of paper to better see the writing on the paper under it.

Prince Sebasian Vael.

His fingers went cold. _Hawke, you cannot let this abomination walk free, snarled_ Sebastian. The cold filled his chest in a mix of panic and anger. _He dies! Or I am returning to Starkhaven. And I will bring such an army with me when I return that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these malificarum to rule!_ Then hot. _I swear to you, Hawke, I will come back and find your precious Anders. I will teach him what true Justice is!_ “FENRIS! You lying, untrustworthy, hateful GIT! You have been corresponding with Sebastian?!” The edge of Justice colored Anders voice. “Are you leading me to my death?!” He thru the stack with remarkably good aim into Fenris’ face when the elf came running.

“What? No. Yes… I mean yes, I have been corresponding with him. But it is not what you think.”

“Darkspawn take you!” Anders shouldered his back and snatched up his staff.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Away, away from you!”

Fenris strode closer and was blasted hard with magic that sent him tumbling into the snow.

“Stay away from me! I trusted you! You promised you would never lie or keep things from me! Stay. Away. From. Me!” He sent another mage blast that Fenris dodge, only to fall through a hold in the floor into another pile of snow. Anders then pushed himself back into the snow, heading south. He could try to hide in the forest from the stupid elf.

By the time Fenris climbed back up, the mage was gone. “Anders! Anders, wait!” The wad of letters lay where they had fallen and his own backpack of gear remained. Panic gripped him. “Anders!” Where would Anders go? Can he actually hide? A step outside into the heavy snow revealed the mage ahead, stomping and yelling and swinging his staff about in fury. Fenris leaned back suddenly against the wall, guilt for his deception forming a sick cold lump in his stomach. “ANDERS!” He darted back, shoved the wad of letters in his pack and shouldered it. He started out after his charge. Was this what it felt like to fail? He did not want to fail Hawke. He didn’t want to fail Anders. He didn’t want to lose what they had. What did they have?

Fenris kept the mage in sight but allowed him to stay well ahead, hoping the anger would wear itself out eventually. His chest ached as hard as when he and Hawke broke their relationship. He blamed the cold snow for the sting in his eyes. He would not lose Anders, but gave him space… at least till dark. Anders would understand if he just gave Fenris a chance, if he read the letters and not just the name upon them. Anders still needed protection.

Anders kept moving through till well after midnight. The town’s lights were visible dots in the distance through the bare-branch trees. He made camp and started a small fire. It was then he saw the elf on the edge of the light from the flame. “Go Away! I never want to see you again!”

“You do not understand and are clouded by misguided hate, same as Sebastian was when he left Kirkwall.”

“There is NOTHING that could make be believe Sebastian does not hate me and want me dead. NOTHING! And you… you betrayed me! Now get out of my camp!”

Fenris shifted his weight from one foot to the next, not sure how to handle the situation nor how to rectify it. He looked about. They were deep enough in the woods that Anders should be safe. “As you wish.” He decided letting Anders have space was better. Hurt, he walked away, towards the village. Let Anders believe he was really going away and not coming back. They needed supplies anyhow. He would get to the village, find a room and sleep a couple hours, then get their needed missing supplies. After all, the money pouch was in his backpack, or did the mage forget? He sighed heavily and gave one more glance back. Anders should be fine for a few hours. Fenris silently vowed to return in the morning with their supplies and explain things carefully, making sure to leave nothing out. He would admit he was wrong and apologize. He tried not to worry about Justice’ hold on Anders after this outburst. This would be the first night in a very long while that they did not sleep together or share things like food and blankets and sweaters. “Maker, please help him to listen to me tomorrow. Please forgive me for my error.”


	12. Shackled & Stolen

The remainder of the night, what little of the wee hours were left of it, were so quiet and empty that Fenris did not sleep well. He woke with a jolt of distress and called out for Anders to see where he was. But, of course he was not there. Fenris scrubbed his face of sleep and left the inn very early. The first task was a hot meal, then a mental list of supplies. It was the usual set of supplies they had been getting regularly. He procured them easily enough and managed to get them all onto his pack, marvelling once again at how the spelled pack had such capacity without gaining weight. He was sure it must be close to its maximum hold though.

A contingent of Wardens, about five, walked past him discussing where to have their own breakfast and what supplies to bring to their outpost. Fenris overheard them say a name that was altogether too familiar. Nathaniel. That archer they met once and helped with a mission. Fenris concluded that he will have to warn Anders not to come into the town and was already plotting a change in their travel plans… pending Anders and he get back to at least talking to each other.

The sun was rising and the thin grey clouds evaporated from view. Fenris pointed himself back towards where he left his mage. He hiked up the incline towards the forest edge. It seemed like a long sad walk away from it last night. Now it felt longer and filled with trepidation.

A crackle of lightening. Mage missiles lit the treeline. The sounds of other spells filled the elven hearing of a frantic elf. Fenris dropped the pack of gear and drew Sword of Mercy, trying to climb as fast as he could. The feeling of magic vanishing was so sudden, he fell on his face. A powerful smite. He had forgotten that feeling. Templars. The clank of their armor and the distressed noises of horses finally registered. Horses. Many of them. That meant many Templars. Fenris belly crawled through the snow till he could peer through some low dead brush over the ridge’s edge. He could not see well enough, and he was too encumbered in his winter gear to attack. So he wriggled back a little and shed the bundling warmth. Up he crawled again.

Anders camp was still a bit of a distance into the woods. Fenris scuttled from tree outcropping to tree outcropping to thick thorny bush. He needed to keep to the cover they provided and not give away his position, something he learned from roguish Hawke. When the camp came into view, he could see more than a dozen Templars. He rushed closer to the next bit of cover. More than a dozen. They were all over the camp, emptying the pack, kicking over the tent, throwing Simplicity (Anders staff) into the woods, or holding down a heavily smited and struggling Anders. No Justice. The smite had smothered even him. Maybe Anders had been smited several times.

Fenris gathered himself like a cat about to pounce, but not yet… not yet. He counted… by the Maker… fifteen Templars. Was it really that necessary for one apostate? Considering they likely knew they had Anders, then yes, they likely needed that many. He knew they should have hunted down and killed that Merc. Fenris wished he had waited outside the door and killed him as he left.

A young Templar stepped right in front of where Fenris was hiding. Their eyes met and the Templar gave the slightest shake of his head to the elf before him. The young man lifted his visor and let his eyes slide over Fenris and beyond, “Nothing, Captain. His companion must be in the village getting supplies.” Fenris sank back down to wait. Fifteen. There was no way he would survive attacking them. The warrior wondered why this Templar was offering him aid. Questions he needed answers to, but not right now. Right now, he waits, grateful for not having been exposed. The young Templar remained on guard in this position. He offered a bit more cover, so Fenris peered carefully around ankles and knees of heavy plate armor.

The Templars were physically rough with the exhausted mage, whom they must have surprised and dragged from sleep as Anders wore just his pants, shirt, sweater and socks. They beat him to make him more compliant and tore away his sweater and shirt. Anders struggled with all his might against being stripped, spitting curses at the Templars. The captain, sneered as he pokes and stroked the branding of APOSTATE in the mage’s flesh, then he kicked what he knew was a permanently injured knee. Anders howled in pain. “I see Alric and Uldred have marked you well. They were fine Templars and my own mentors. I am so pleased that I get the opportunity to lay my own mark upon you.” He held out a hand and one of the other Templars handed him something that was heating in the hot coals of the small campfire. The Captain pressed the red hot end against Anders skin across his abdomen. The scream the ripped from him flared a little with Justice’s tone. Fenris tenses, but remained pressed where he lay, camouflaged in the brush and sparse snow; his own abdominals flinched in sympathy.

“Get me that Tevinter Artifact. It will be more effective than our smites in this special case.” The captain is passed two pieces of something Fenris thought he would never in his life see again, the masterpiece of anti-magical work by Octavian. That was the Magister here in Fereldon hunting for his artifact that they saw way way back before the winter hit. The two pieces of this artifact snapped together with a small key-like device that the Captain pocketed. A collar meant to control and smother magic and possessing spirits, keep them contained. Depending on the kind of mage one was or the kind of spirit that possessed the mage, the side effects varied.

Anders thrashed and howled and clawed, trying to get it off. Terror filled his voice and eyes and burned into Fenris’ mind. It was like listening to when Anders got accidentally trapped in a dark cell in one of the tunnel networks they were exploring with Hawke. He had been angry with Anders’ stupidity then. Now he understood why. Anders Screamed himself hoarse. Fenris only heard the laboured raspy breathing as the Templars ransacked the small camp. Fe raised his eyes from the melted snow (melted from his own breath). Anders was looking right at him; they could see each other from their respective places on the ground. The mage was shaking, a desperate plea in his eyes and his fingers plucked uselessly at the collar. Hope was dwindling in Anders expression till his face seemed almost blank, tears meandering over the bridge of his nose and into the side of his hair. Fenris wished so hard that Anders could hear his thots, _I will come for you. They will not hold you long. I will come for you and free you._

The Captain nudged the mage with a steel boot. “Not exactly how I thought it would work, but interesting.” He mounted his horse and motioned for the mage to be thrown over the front over his lap. The young Templar was told to remain behind for a couple candlemarks to see if the elf warrior showed up.

“And if the warrior kills me?” he asked carefully.

The other Templars chuckled. The captain replied, “Best hope he does not. I would hate to have to tell the head of the order that the last of the original Templars and their trainees were killed at this fort.” To the rest, “Ride out! I want lunch before I start the tests. Making a possessed mage tranquil is tricky and takes time.” The other Templars mounted their steeds and the group, minus the young Templar standing by Fenris, rode thru the forest towards Ostegar.

They rode away… with Anders.


	13. Cavalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heroes are made of these  
> Who are we to disagree?  
> They travel the world  
> And the seven seas  
> Everybody's looking for something  
> Hold your head up  
> Keep your head up, moving on...

As soon as the bulk of horses and Templars were out of sight, Fenris pounced the young Templar, pinning him to the ground, hand phased and ready to rip the man’s heart out. “Where are they going? Why did you protect me? Give me a good reason why I should not kill you here and now,” he roared.

“You need my help to save him. I need your help to save my mages. I am all that is left to buffer between them and those Templars. Neither of us can do this alone,” he pleaded frantically. “Please! Please help me!”

Fenris calmed the lyrium in him and sat back, not getting up off the young Templar. His green eyes bore into the young man as much as his hand could have. “How many are there?”

“Thirty,” said the Templar, as if that number was impossibly huge.

Alone, it certainly would be, especially barely trained as this one was. He was not alone now. However, thirty was also too many for Fenris, even with this Templar’s aid. “What about your mages? Will they help?”

The knight winced, “Maybe. There are two elderly and a teenager that have not been already killed or made tranquil. But they are not fighters. They are healers, potion and plant manipulators. Not very powerful. The King gave us the building to use as a quiet sanctuary for training and helping support the local small villages near Ostegar who need healers or who have a hard time coaxing the land to grow after the last Blight.”

“Phaw,” spat Fenris with exasperation. “Useless.”

“They are NOT useless!” The Templar ground his teeth, “We were. We were supposed to be their guardians. Protect them from being distracted, support them, assist them, keep away danger. Guardians, a Templar to a Mage. The new system was working. It was a good partnership. Till that Captain came. I was going to wed my mage, Maleena… They killed her because she tried to fight back.” The broken anguished look on the young man’s face echoed what Fenris felt in his heart right now having watched them hurt and steal Anders away. That horrible and sickening helpless feeling, that feeling that you can do nothing but watch… and exact revenge later when you find an opportunity that won’t waste your efforts.

“We need more help. Come with me into the village. We will find the Wardens. I know one of them. And that Templar Captain has interfered with Warden Rule. Anders… is a Warden.” He stood and held a hand out to the young knight. “I am Fenris. I am Anders’ Guardian. I too failed him. Now I must make amends.”

The young Templar nodded for he too was ready to make amends. “I am Knight Lannit. I was initiated as a knight a week before they arrived.”

“Well, Knight Lannit. Find Simplicity.” At the confused expression Fenris received, he added, “Anders’ staff.”

“He named it?”

“No, I did. He liked the name and kept it. All great tools have names. My blade is Mercy… To remind me to have some.” He showed mercy today for this Templar and did not let his anger overcome his senses.

He packed up the scattered gear with Lannit’s help. Together they trudged back toward the village. Fenris collected his winter wear where he had abandoned it and his backpack where he had stashed it in a bush. After roaming the village asking literally everyone all morning, an innkeeper told them where the Wardens were heading. Apparently, they had a small outpost just south of there. They are close and come in once a month to ask if the village has seen any darkspawn. And once every three months, they visit Ostegar to ensure it remains clear of the vile creatures.

“I have to get back or the Captain will think you killed me or I ran and that no one is there to be between him and the last few mages there.” Knight Lannit regretfully said. “But… if you can bring help… even if you cannot… I will watch for you...” He showed Fenris on the map where his sanctuary now fort resided. “I’ll watch for you and if I see you, I will do my best to sneak you in.”

Fenris studied the location, nodding. “Good. I will be there with Wardens or alone. I hope with Wardens. I will not be any longer that… a day.”

They parted ways so the young Templar could begin the ruse of having not seen the elf at all. That maybe elf and mage had a falling out and parted ways. They could question the Anders to find out. The Captain did. He laughed and laughed all through his dinner reciting how the mage and his last hope had a fight just last night and spit ways in anger. “And I almost thought they were lovers!” He bellowed with more laughter. “Bet he regrets their lovers spat now!”

Lannit did not find the humor in this and ate in silence. As he stood, the captain ordered him on night duty. “Gladly,” muttered the young knight, relieved to be away from them all to stand on the small tower where he could see all around his little violated sanctuary. He wonders if he would see the elf in the night, and how he would in the darkness. One of the Tranquil came up to the tower to bring him a hot mulled cider to keep him warm. It is from this Tranquil that he got news about where and how Anders was. He thanked the man for the gently.

An hour later, he almost pissed himself. There in the darkness was a streaking ghost, skeletal and glowing lyrum blue! The ghost stepped into the clearing where the snow illuminated and revealed the elf warrior. Thudding slowly forward from the woods came the cavalry. Maybe two dozen Wardens all ahorse. A mix of warriors, mages, archers, and six large mabari. The lead Warden was a hard looking archer, this Nathaniel that Fenris had mentioned. They all marched forward in formation. A daunting sight compared to the lesser organized Templar fanatics that took over here. These newcomers were war trained to face a darkspawn and a blight… and they were now here for Anders.


	14. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... or is it?

Lannit ran down through the tower yelling that trouble had arrived. “You abandoned your post, you fool!” A Templar struck him nearly senseless. “The Captain will deal with you later.” That night hurried to muster his fellows and lock this place down for a potential siege the moment he got his own look at what had arrived at his door.

Nathaniel bellowed, “You have crossed the code of the Wardens and the Law of the Land. You have taken a Warden Mage. You have one candlemark to release him to us. The Templars and the Chantry have no jurisdiction any Warden for any reason.”

“Anders is a dangerous possessed apostate! He destroyed the Chantry if Kirkwall costing many lives. He is a criminal and clearly out of control or you would have managed him and dealt with him yourselves before that incident. Since you failed this duty, we will fix the situation ourselves. He will be tranquil before your candlemark-” He dodges an arrow he did not think could reach him and took shelter out of sight.

Lannit really wished he had worn his helmet. It took him several minutes to regain his wits and stagger to his feet. His face hurt and blood trickled from the gashes the gauntlet had caused when he was struck. He touched it gingerly, relieved nothing was broken. One of the mages, a young boy of maybe thirteen cautiously approached. When he asked if they were in danger… more danger, Lannit tried to smile, “No, help has come. Can you heal me so I can try to sneak that help in?”

The boy’s eyes lit up. He raises his hand and a faint blue glow appeared. The healing eased a little of the pain and closed over the gashes a bit, enough to stop bleeding. “What should we do? Can we help? Are we going to fight?”

“No, take the elder and your sister and hide where I told you yesterday.” Lannit watched the boy run off… the last of his charges that still could work magic. He hurried to the kitchen and shoved open a rarely used door this time of year. The snow and ice made it very difficult to push open. They only really used it in the warm weather for easy access to the herb harden. He stepped out, and nearly screamed as that very ghost that unnerved him earlier stood before him, hand IN his chest holding his heart from the inside. Lannit’s breath came in short little gasps and he nearly lost his footing as the elf carefully removed his hand and released the power of his lyrium brands.

“Lead me to Anders NOW.”

Lannit nodded, still catching his breath from the shocking near-death experience. The truth of what his fate could have been was in every Templar they passed in the halls as Fenris streaked to them and ripped out the heart of each. Lannit worried that maybe he let in a demon.

At the door Lannit lead him to, Fenris finally asked, “The mages and Tranquil. The ones you are trying to protect. Are they somewhere safe?”

“The mages are hiding. They will probably grab the Tranquil with them.”

“Good. Then open the front gate. The Wardens are there. They know one Templar will be helping them. Stay out of the fight if you want to live.” The Wardens had agreed to manage being a distraction; they had no intention of killing Templars. Fenris, however, made no such promise and fully intended to see them all dead… except Lannit. He did not wait to hear fighting before charging the door and smashing it open. He almost tumbled down the stairs that were immediately on the other side. A torch further down lit the way. He did not need its aid as he streaked at lyrium speed, ghosting around the corner at the bottom to a scene that shocked the breath from him.

What must have been the cellar with a good-sized meat locker with chains and grill had been converted into a mage prison. On the back wall were a small collection of potions and jars of raw lyrium. A brazier burned brightly in hues of red and lyrium blue. A heavy wooden door was converted into a table. Anders lay in loose trousers, bare feet and his torn shirt. He was shackled to the makeshift table, the collar still around his throat, his expression numb, blank. The Templar that tortured Anders in the camp held a hot glowing brand with the Chantry sun on it, about to sear the image into Anders brow and completely the process of Tranquility.

“NOOOO!” Fenris tackled the man.

The other two Templars in the room joined the struggle. Fenris tore through them. Three were no match for him in this wild fury. He roared, snarled, and tore them to bloody pieces with his hands till they were not recognizable.


	15. Tranquil?

At the sound of armored feet pounding down the stairs, Fenris whipped to face them. Nathaniel shot out an arm to prevent the men behind him from continuing into the room. Calmly, he stated, “The upstairs has been cleared. They would not surrender peacefully. Fenris. Is he Tranquil? … … … Is he alive?”

Fierce green eyes held the Warden’s. The questions forced him back to the now and the reason he was there. He took in a couple breaths to steady himself, the lyrium glow ending abruptly. He checked Anders, listening for breath, heartbeat. His legs felt a little weak when he gratefully found both. But the mage just stared at nothing, registered nothing. There were traces that they have forced Anders to ingest something he didn’t want to. Fenris assumed his mage was drugged. He called upon the lyrium again, ignoring Nathaniel’s presence, and ripped the shackles off one by one. He was more careful about the collar, but that device, he destroyed as much as he possibly could and dropped it in the coals of the brazier.

Still, Anders hardly even blinked. Nathaniel almost lost his life when he stepped in to help carry Anders upstairs. “Touch him and die,” growled the elf.

“He needs help, a healer.” Nathaniel backed off. “We will take over here for a couple days till we can sort this out and get these people under better management and protection. He led the way back up the stairs, but Fenris carried Anders. As the Warden passed one of his men and ordered, “Strip them.” He indicated the dead Tamplars. “Store the armor, clean up, treat the bodies like darkspawn. When we find the logs, we will send a full report to the king and the Warden. They can deal with the political fallout or send someone to talk to me.” When he spotted Lannit, he patted the young man on the shoulder, “That, what you did here today, was very brave. If any of you wish to join the Wardens, I will accept you into our ranks. Otherwise,” He looked over his shoulder at Fenris and Anders, “They need a room and a healer if you have one.”

Lannit leaned a little to see past Nathaniel. His eyes widened suddenly as he gasped. He thought the de-hearted corpses in the corridors were disturbing. What he was the elf warrior, bathed essentially in blood and … bits of well, he did not want to think too hard what those bits were. “The elder Taven and the siblings Hessley and Folkner are my charges. Folkner can heal, but only just some. He isn’t very strong with his magic. To help your Anders… I will have to ask the Tranquil Ysu. There are unused room down that hall. I will ask for help get the baths running and heated. They are communal. I think… I think it would be wise if uhm,” he winced as he addressed Fenris, “If you two wash real well.”

Fenris grunted a short agreement. His attention was really on Anders, who felt so limp in his arms he paused in his walking often to listen and make sure the mage was still alive. The lyrium brands gave him the strength to carry Anders; he would for however long he had to.

The communal bath was a highlight to this little sanctuary. It was of dwarven design. Solid smooth structures, and a water system that worked with leavers and heat. There were three huge tubs and they filled and spilled onto the angle of the floor which led to a central drain. One such tub was filling as Fenris arrived with Anders. He had been slow to arrive, carrying his burden. Someone had brought some of their gear, a change of clothes. A Tranquil woman stood quietly nearby to assist with anything. It was just like back in Minrathus with Danarius, except back then, he was the slave standing quietly nearby to assist with anything. He was not sure if he should feel sorry for the Tranquil, or assist her to die quickly. Was she hurting? Did they hurt her making her Tranquil as they had Anders?

One worry at a time. He stripped both himself and Anders, climbing into the tub with him. It was difficult keeping Anders from sagging into the water and drowning while he washed them both. However, he wanted no one’s hands involved in this. This situation was his fault. He intended to make amends as best he can.

Dried later and dressed simply, he followed the Tranquil out to the room that was prepared for them. “I am Tranquil Ysu. Your belongings will be cleaned and brought here for you. In an hour, if he has no improved, we will discuss his situation and his recovery.” The soft almost monotone of the women did not comfort Fenris. It was absent emotion and inflection. He worried this was Anders’ fate. He had gotten there before the branding… but he already knew that was the last step in the rite of Tranquility.

Fenris sat vigil over Anders for the last few hours of the night. The Tranquil Ysu came and went as she checked on Anders and took notes. She needed to study to situation more and investigate what might have been given to Anders. That he is a possessed mage makes her assessment complicated.

Meanwhile, the sanctuary was cleaned in stages round the clock by wardens, mages, and Tranquil until it was a safe and healthy place to live in once again. The former Templars were stripped of armor and useful garments. All those were washed and stored for later use should that be necessary. Their personal belongings were sorted and packaged to be sent to their families with a standard issue formal letter of death by the Chief Warden here, co-signed by the young Tempar Lannit. The bodies were burned on pyres outside. The ashes would be added to the packages to be sent to the families of the deceased. And… everyone got some sleep knowing they were all safe from harm.

Over the next few days, nothing had changed in Anders’ condition. Folkner did what small amount of healing he could under the supervision of the Tranquil Ysu, who could no longer heal. Fenris was edgy and growly whenever anyone was there touching Anders. When he was alone, he held the mage’s hand and quietly pleaded for communication, movement… even Justice. Nothing.

Elder Taven, now First Enchanter of The Sanctuary (as it now was formally named in the documents), enters and brought a cushioned stool for himself to sit upon. Fenris bristled at the intrusion. “The Wardens want to take Anders with them.” Fenris opened his mouth to yell his protests, “And I advised them not to.”

Fenris visibly relaxed and offered the old mage his attention and respect now.

“They have an outpost that is sizable not too far away and will leave a horse here so we may get to them quickly if we need them for aid. They helped up raise the King’s flag over the Sanctuary to announce that it is under royal protection. We are a seed group, or were. I hope we can rebuilt after all this tragedy. And that is one reason I advised against the Wardens taking Anders. I overheard some of the story of why he left them and what has befallen you all that got you to our door. A sanctuary of quiet might be critically needed for the time being. Anders has been subjected to the whims, horrible as they were, of the Templars. He does not need the stress of wondering what the whims will be of the Wardens, especially if the spirit that possesses him is a difficult one. Justice and sometimes Vengence. The collar that controlled him is destroyed. Thank you. Such a vile thing.”

“Is Anders Tranquil? It is like he is not here… not even the spirit, though I can sense both forms of magic.” Fenris kept the demanding energy from his voice, but disliked how it came out sounding like he was pleading. Maybe he was. Pleading for answers, for help.

“No, but it will be a couple more days before the potions and toxins fed to him fully wear off. He should have been responsive by now. I can only assume his mind has retreated out of trauma. I cannot tell you how long till he is mended and feels safe enough to surface. Time… and safety. Those he needs right now and those we can offer now that those Templars are dispatched. The wardens will make regular rounds past us to Ostegar to ensure we do not fall prey again. You two can stay as long as you need. Maybe, when he wakes, he will want to teach young Folkner about healing magic.”

“He… might like that,” Fenris thought so, and if not, Anders would probably love to work their apothecary for a while and stock them up or even teach them how to do so better. “Is there any way I can get letters sent abroad?”

“Yes, if you prepare them now, The Wardens have an aviary in their outpost and can deliver messages. But they are leaving by lunch,” said the old mage who left Fenris to consider his future and Anders.

Fenris prepared his letters right away. One for Sebastian. One for Varric. One for Hawke. Though he loathed leaving Anders, he did to give his letters to Nathaniel and to thank him for his help in saving Anders.

“Tranquility is a disgusting rite forced upon innocents. I hope Anders recovers. Please… keep me informed about him. We have tried to keep tabs on him since the moment he ran from us. Re really didn’t need to. But I understand his desire to not be constrained. We have him logged as retired and under watch.” Nathaniel explained and Fenris wondered not for the first time if there might have been more between Nathaniel and Anders than even Anders thought. Perhaps Anders was wrong and Nathaniel was interested? Regardless, it changed nothing right now.

Fenris frowned, “Watched… why? Because of the spirit?”

“No. Well yes. If Justice truly got out of hand and took control, we could step in, but I think you are as equipped to do so as any Warden. I cannot explain the details of why we watch him, but to say… all Wardens are tainted and thus at risk of turning. So we watch each other.”

He watched Nathaniel depart as he pondered these words and recalled something he either heard from Bethany or read in the journals, something about Wardens and the Taint. All Wardens are tainted. Because of this Taint, they generally live about thirty years, unless they are a mage. Because of the use of magic, they lived likely half that time or less depending on how much of their own life force they pour into magic for those who can do so. Anders was one such mage capable of doing so, and Fenris knew he did so often to save lives. Anders had at best fifteen years… from the time he became a Warden. When was that? Fenris counted backwards on his fingers till he got back to the room and lost his breath. (15 minus the past year, minus 5 years in with Hawke, minus another year hiding in Kirkwall, minus another couple years with the tail end of the Blight… leaving just 6 years likely less for all the magic Anders did healing people including him) “Hawke needs to hurry,” he grumbled under his breath.

Dead was a terrible plan. Overtaken by Darkspawn taint was an equally horrible plan. Taken over by Justice was no better. But this Tranquil yet not Tranquil… this had to be the worst. He entered the room to find Anders… as he had left him. He sank to the floor by the bed and buried his face in his arms, feeling utterly helpless and hopeless.


	16. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter; but it is here that we end till the next story.
> 
> QUESTION:   
> Should I include the letters of correspondence between Fenris and Sebastian as an epilogue?

The few days passed with a ragdoll of an Anders. Fenris fell into a routine of care, sometimes taking a break upon request to help in some way in the Sanctuary. Anders slept or stared blankly. At the end of the week, Fenris woke suddenly from the feeling of Justice. It was just for a moment, but this was the first sign of something different, some vague indication that Anders might not be Tranquil. The others had tried to assure him that Anders wasn’t, but this catatonic state made their assessments hard to believe.

Lannit had suggested that Fenris talk to Anders, maybe that might comfort the mage and draw him out of the shell he hid within himself. Fenris was willing to try anything, honestly. So, he started to just recite the goings on of the day. He would mention the options for dinner, hoping Anders would indicate some preference somehow. He read his books allowed till he had finished them for the second time. “When you are ready, I will read you the letters that I received from Varric and Sebastian. I really and truly am sorry for keeping Sebastian’s letters from you. He was wrong about you back then, as I was. He has been corrected and has much to say on the matter, much to say to you. He even has a great many questions about your Manifesto. No, I am not interested in hearing it per se, but I suppose by defacto, I will have to in order for you and him to discuss it.”

The days stretched into a week. The best that was achieved was that Anders would sit up and stay sitting if you put him in the position. He ate and swallowed if you fed him and put a cup to his lips. He stopped soiling the bed and used the chamber pot chair if you put him on it timely. Otherwise, there were no responses to anything, no reactions. Just silence.

Fenris hated this silence and missed the incessant chatter, missed the tenor voice, missed the occasional song. But there was nothing… nothing… just silence. Fenris shared food from the same plate, bathed his mage with great care, and stroked through the feather-soft red-gold hair every night till those amber eyes closed for sleep. And still… there was just silence.

Just silence.


End file.
